Good morning, Smár Einn.
A few of you caught some of the upcoming in last chapter.
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Thank you to Mel and Jill!
.: Tuttugu ok Sex :.
Being a part of the birth of this child has been an incredible high. I'm exhausted, but I also cannot stop smiling.
Eydís and I stay long enough to make sure that mother and child are doing well before we pack up to leave.
When we head outside, we see Edvard waiting for us by the horses.
Eydís offers her son a tired smile as she climbs onto her horse. She glances back at me then rolls her eyes when she realizes I don't know how to ride, and that Edvard is here to ride for me. On our ride down the mountain, she'd been in too much of a hurry to notice my complete ineptitude.
"I'm tired," she tells us. "I'm going ahead."
Edvard waves her off and she takes off up the mountain. Edvard climbs up onto the horse, hoisting me up as well. I do try to stop my dress from riding up, but it's no use.
Edvard chuckles, and I feel his warm breath fan against the back of my neck as he kicks the horse into a trot.
"Worry not, Smár Einn." He breathes against me. "I shall protect you from the men in the village."
His arms come down, holding the bridle lower so that his forearms rest against my thighs. I catch fire at his touch, my muscles bunching under the weight of him.
It's not other men I'm worried about.
I've had so little experience with anyone of the opposite sex that I have absolutely no idea what to do. The weight of him pressed in from behind and on top of me feels better than it probably should, and now that I can actually communicate with him and know that he is as kind as I suspected, things have changed in me. Though it still scares me, I want more with him.
How do I go about getting it though?
I don't know what the customs are here. In my time, I couldn't imagine a woman going up to a man and kissing him. Perhaps it was done amongst the New Age crowd that preached about free love, but in Forks, no one would ever dare such a thing.
But I'm not in Forks anymore.
The problem is, wherever I am, I don't know how to get what I want either.
Edvard lets the horse wander up the mountain, taking his time. The sun is high in the sky, and though I've gone a night without sleep, with Edvard pressing all around me, I'm wide awake.
"How was your night?"
I glance back at Edvard as he asks and I take a deep breath, remembering the powerful feeling that had come over me. "Magical," I whisper in English, turning back around to look at the trees when I answer. I can sense him frowning, and I turn back to him. "Good," I say. "Very, very good." I don't know any other word in his language to describe it. "I've never…" I shake my head. I can feel my body relaxing into his as we ride, fatigue catching up with me as I let my mind wander over the events of the night before. "I've never had friends," I say, then wince at the harsh truth of it. "Eydís and Tove and Sigurð showed me last night another way of…" Frustration overcomes me at my inability to convey everything to him in his own language. I'm not sure I could even do it in mine.
"Félagar," he says. I don't know what it means, but I nod, hoping it's something akin to community.
"Edvard?" I ask, after a moment of silence.
"Yes, Smár Einn?"
"What are the runes?"
I've tried to ask before, but I've never had a strong enough grasp on his language to fully get into it. I can feel him shift behind me, and I wonder if he's thinking about the time that I ran from him in the woods.
Though I now believe he wasn't doing anything evil, it still scares me to remember it.
"They…" He shifts again. "They know things."
I frown, looking at him over my shoulder. "What?"
His heavy brows are furrowed. "They…" I watch as his brows dip further, trying to explain it. "They are a gift from the gods… from Óðinn." He looks frustrated, and I have to wonder if I was fluent in his language if he'd still have a hard time explaining it. I turn back around, trying to think about all that he's told me.
"Like Tarot?" I ask in English, not expecting him to answer. I don't know anything about Tarot other than my mother had a cousin who believed a deck of cards could tell her the future. I wasn't allowed to ask about it, and I'd never been too interested, so I had no idea how it worked. "Is it magic?" I ask, looking back at him. I don't know his word for magic, so I have to use mine. He just shrugs and I sigh, looking forward again. "They are good?" I ask, hoping that at least this will be something he can answer.
"They are as nature is," he says slowly. "They hold power and that is both good and bad."
This conversation is going nowhere, and I'm more confused than ever.
"Who is Óðinn?"
I feel his surprise in the way his body shifts behind me. I glance up at him and see his smile quirk under his beard.
"He is a god," he says slowly. "He is the god of knowing."
"Are there other gods?"
Edvard nods, and I turn back around in his arms, leaning into him as he speaks. It's comfortable, being in his arms as he speaks. I like the feeling of his deep voice vibrating through me as I lean into his chest.
"There are many gods who know many things. Tyr is a god of battle and strength, and Freyr is a god of the harvest and fortune."
I frown. "Aren't there any women?"
He laughs lightly, and it tickles me. "Many strong and brave and wise women," he says, his head dipping down so that he can whisper in my ear. It makes goose flesh break out over my arms. "Iðunn is the goddess who holds the golden apples, and…"
"Eir?" I ask, glancing at him from where I'm curled up in his arms. He nods.
"She is a healer, like my mother."
I smile, my eyes growing heavy as I look down again. "She protected us tonight."
His arms squeeze ever so gently around me, and I feel warm and safe.
"Edvard?" I'm tired, and there is nothing I want more than to sleep, but I can't help the flow of questions still in me.
"Yes, Smár Einn?"
I smile even as my eyelids flutter shut with my exhaustion.
"What does the word þræll mean?"
I feel him tense under me, and it's startling enough to bring me back fully awake. I look up at him in time to see his face smoothing from a scowl.
"It is not a word for you," he says stiffly.
I frown at him.
"What does that mean?"
He's quiet for so long, I think he's not going to answer me. Finally, he sighs.
"It is what your… role," he says slowly. "What should be your role. It is the custom of my people to sometimes take strong men and women back from the raids. They are set to work in our houses, to aid us in our everyday lives. The more þrællar one has, the bigger their estate."
I try to process what he's telling me. "Slaves," I say, shaking my head. "You own slaves?"
He doesn't answer me, mostly because I've spoken in English. I try to wrap my head around all of it. I am no longer tired. "I'm supposed to be your slave?"
I look at him when I ask, and though I'm still speaking in English, he seems to understand me.
"It is customary," he says slowly. "That when I found you, you would become our þræll. As I have said, this was never what you have been to our family."
I'm shaking in his arms, blown away that I could have been reading them so incorrectly all this time. I'm no more than property to them—a good they could barter away at any moment.
And here I'd felt like they'd taken me in as one of their own.
"Bella," Edvard says, and he yanks the horse to a stop. He dismounts then tugs me off the horse as well, turning me to face him.
He's so massive that when he's this close, I have to crane my neck to see his face. "Bella, you are no þræll." His voice is insistent, begging me to understand. "But my family must call you such to the village. You aren't from our world; you don't understand our customs."
I'm completely overwhelmed, the energy I've expelled over the last twelve hours all catching up to me. I just want to be alone, to process once I've slept.
"Edvard, stop," I plead, my eyes filling with tears. He reaches for me, his hands easily covering my shoulders as he grips me tight.
"Bella." His voice is desperate, his eyes wild with his need to make me understand.
"What am I to you?" I ask, my voice rough with my tears. I can't think straight enough to ask in his language, and he watches me, hopeless as I cry.
He groans, pulling on my shoulders and crushing me to his chest. I feel safe in his arms, and I hate that. I have no idea what's going on in this world, no idea how to navigate any of it, and instead of finding out to protect myself, I've blindly trusted everything would be okay.
Now, my foolish heart must pay the price.